


Brad Bell's Essential Life Lessons (With New Added Interactive Learning Centers!)

by activevirtues



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Dollar Donation Drive, Flashback, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/activevirtues/pseuds/activevirtues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people need little reminders in how to be fabulous. Brad is not one of those people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brad Bell's Essential Life Lessons (With New Added Interactive Learning Centers!)

**Author's Note:**

> For the wonderful llandaffaz as a thank you for donating to the Houston Area Women's Sheleter, in honor of Terri Sanvincete. Thanks so much for your generosity, hon. Hope it's worth it!

Everyone who remembers Brad before he was the fabulous, glittery vision of perfection that he is today has had all photos confiscated and has taken vows to keep any and all stories where they belong – way the fuck away from his life in Los Angeles. He likes to cultivate the impression that he sprang from the womb fully formed, wearing platform boots and hotpants, wailing to a disco beat. As far as anyone within a thousand-mile radius is concerned, he has always been and will always be exactly who he is, and that is exactly how Brad prefers it to be.

Adam is not so lucky. Not only are there pictures – oh, God, are there pictures – but Brad himself remembers the fits and starts Adam had in the path to becoming the immaculately-coiffed rock star he is today.

Truth be told, Brad kind of liked some of them.

Okay, really liked some of them.

He remembers a blond Adam, shaggy hair, freckled, looking so California it hurt. Brad liked it, actually, found it hilarious when Adam would come over after some audition looking all straighted up and collapse on the couch like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "I'm no good at this," Brad remembers Adam saying.

"Good at what?" Brad asked.

"Everything," Adam said, throwing an arm across his face like he was trying to out-drama-queen Brad, which would, of course, never do. Brad climbed on top of him, sitting on his knees and waiting for Adam to say something.

Fuck it, he hated waiting. "I can think of a few things you're very good at. If you need reminding, I'm happy to help."

"I can't imagine what you're talking about," Adam said. "Especially since the fine people at… whatever the fuck that eighteenth studio was seemed to think I didn't even merit a callback."

Brad scooted up a bit on Adam's legs. "That's a lot of self-pity coming out of your mouth, Lambert." He reached down, flicked open the top button of his own jeans. "You can't let the bitches get to you, you know that." The zipper seemed weirdly loud as he drew it down – maybe the room was just too quiet? – but it made Adam's breath hitch, and Brad grinned. "How many times do I need to tell you how fucking amazing you are before you're actually going to believe me?"

Adam's hands moved to the back of Brad's thighs, thumbs digging in with just enough pressure to make Brad want to scoot further up Adam's body. So he did, and let a groan slip out of his mouth when he brushed over Adam's hardening cock as he did it. Now he sat on Adam's stomach, just at the point where Adam's plain blue t-shirt and hoodie (Brad remembers at the time wondering what the fuck was up with the primary colors) rode up. Brad ran a finger along that sliver of skin and said, "I think the reason you're feeling like this is because you know that all this… whatever the fuck you're trying to dress up as, right here? Is totally not you." He let a fingernail scrape, just enough for Adam to feel it, along the lowest of Adam's ribs, and smiled as Adam closed his eyes.

"You're probably right," Adam said after a moment.

"Bitch, I'm always right."

"You're _probably_ right," Adam repeated. "So what do you suggest?"

Brad shimmed forward a little more, til he was almost to Adam's breastbone, and stopped to shove his jeans down a little farther. His cock was hard in his tasteful-yet-sexy briefs, and it was leaking just enough precome to wet the cotton. Brad gripped it once, just around the base, just to show Adam exactly what he was working with, here, and said, "I propose that you continue to lie on that couch and just try to feel sorry for yourself, all butched-up and rejected by dumbasses who don't know the first thing about making real fucking art. I propose that I will, while you do that, take my cock out and fuck your face with it until you can't remember why you wanted to straighten yourself up in the first place." He gave his cock a long, slow jerk, still in his underwear, just for dramatic emphasis. Okay, Brad might concede with hindsight that it was not just for dramatic emphasis but also in fact because he really wanted to come, and not in his underwear. But at the time, Brad is sure that dramatic emphasis was foremost in his mind.

Adam licked his lips like he was hoping there'd be the taste of Brad on them already. Fucking gorgeous. "I don't know," Adam said, and Brad took the opportunity to move up some more, until he'd pinned Adam's arms to his side with his thighs. "I mean, it'd take a lot to distract me from this right now. I'm pretty distraught, Bradley."

Brad remembers thinking then that he's in – Adam never calls him Bradley except when joking, and usually joking about sex. Or during sex. Or sometimes when he's on the phone with his mother, which then makes him think about sex, which makes him end the conversation pretty quickly.

At that point, Brad moved one last time – possibly twice – until he was sitting on Adam's chest with his legs on either side of Adam's head. "Time to cure that, Adam," he said, stroking his hands through Adam's soft blond hair once before tugging the waistband of his underwear down underneath his balls, freeing his cock. "Suck me."

Adam's mouth quirked for a second. "I dunno, Bradley, this seems a little gay."

Brad fisted his hand in Adam's hair and tugged himself up to his knees. His cock was right in Adam's face now, laid up against Adam's cheek enough to leave a smudge of precome. "I think," Brad said, "you need to open your mouth nice and wide for me, Adam. And then you need to suck me like the cock-hungry young man you most certainly are. And after that…"

Brad didn't actually get to the after that, because Adam hitched up on his elbows and before he could say anything Brad's cock was in Adam's mouth, hot wet breath surrounding him and tongue making some very creative movements around the leaking head. "_Motherfuck_, Adam," Brad said, pulling on Adam's hair, and then shit was _on_, because Adam could open that throat so wide, and Brad just shoved in and in and again, holding on to all that soft blond hair and trying to avoid the angle where it looked a little like the mom from the Partridge Family, because if that didn't function as an immediate bonerkiller, it was only to bonerly assassinate you at a later, even less convenient date.

Adam was just taking it now, letting Brad set the rhythm, letting him fuck Adam's mouth hard and quick, and Brad found himself telling Adam about it, about just how fucking gay this was, exactly what it meant for them. "Can be whoever the fuck you want to be, Adam, " he found himself babbling, "but it doesn't matter who you pretend to be if you don't know by now that this, right here, this is you, taking my cock and loving it. You know you love it, every fucking inch down your throat, the way it makes you feel when it's down, down, almost a choke, just enough. And you'll still love it when it's done, when I'm shooting on your face and wiping it off with that awful blue hoodie."

He was getting closer now, and Adam's body twisted under Brad as he fucked Adam's face harder, faster. "I'm gonna do it," Brad said. "I'm gonna come on your face, and then when you look in the mirror you're gonna see it. Maybe you'll stop thinking that playing it straight is going to show any sort of real you."

Adam's mouth went slack for a moment – one long thrust in, fuck yeah, and Brad still remembers that even years later – and then as he pulled out almost to the tip, Adam's tongue curled around the thick head and _sucked_, like a fucking professional, like he should be teaching classes or some shit like that. "So do it," Adam said, mouth still around just enough of Brad's cock to warp the words a little. There was a little smile around his mouth, around Brad's fucking cock, and that was too much. He pulled back just as he started to spurt, coming in five or six bursts that caught Adam pretty much square on the face. They began to drip as Adam let his head hit the sofa cushion. Brad dropped back onto Adam, deciding for a moment to rehearse the role of "blanket: penis edition" in the event any subsequent interest was shown. And for the moment, they were quiet.

"Thank you," Adam said after a while – though it may be that Brad is remembering that wrong. Maybe he thanked Adam and left. But right now he thinks he stayed, that Adam thanked him, and that he was just confused about it then as he is about it now.

What he doesn't get, to this very day, is that people don't celebrate Adam's achievements even more. And he knows that his interventions, all the ones he could spring on Adam, worked fiendishly well, because he knows Adam today, the one with the dark hair and the crazy confidence and all that leather. He knows where that confidence came from, how it came to be, and how much fucking work it takes to keep it going when so many people ask so many dumbass questions.

And he's really fucking glad he can continue to keep up the charade that Brad Bell has never been and will never be anything but fucking fabulous.


End file.
